


Cheese

by mansikka



Series: Omelette [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Poor Sam, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I’d have known it was gonna be like this… I’d have never said a word.”</p><p>Sam’s using that sulking voice he’s got that’s set on targeting Dean’s guilt, but it’s not working in the slightest.</p><p>Dean’s so happy, so very, very happy, that he’s walking around like a veritable ray of sunshine and so sickly sweet that Sam feels the need to brush his teeth every time he sees him. Which is often.</p><p>Well. It’s sort of often.</p><p>It’s the kind of often that he means when Dean’s actually out of his bedroom, where Sam’s pretty sure Cas has already moved into and hung up his trenchcoat in Dean’s closet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> The silliness is over! I... thank you for sticking with it if you have :)
> 
> x

“If I’d have known it was gonna be like this… I’d have never said a word.”

Sam’s using that sulking voice he’s got that’s set on targeting Dean’s guilt, but it’s not working in the slightest.

Dean’s so happy, so very, very happy, that he’s walking around like a veritable ray of sunshine and so sickly sweet that Sam feels the need to brush his teeth every time he sees him. Which is often.

Well. It’s sort of often.

It’s the kind of often that he means when Dean’s actually out of his bedroom, where Sam’s pretty sure Cas has already moved into and hung up his trenchcoat in Dean’s closet.

And perhaps Sam might be exaggerating a touch on the sweet thing, but seriously. To see the way Dean is around Cas, and conversely how Cas wraps himself around Dean, well. It’s like every bad romance novel out there and could probably teach those authors a thing or two about what it is to actually be in love.

Okay. So maybe Sam is being a bit of a drama queen.

But if he has to walk in, one more time, on Dean giving Cas these cute little kisses like he’s never going to get enough of the taste of him, and smiling all the time he’s doing it. Or see Cas looking at Dean with such… wonder… and touching him wherever he can get his hands on him like he’s never felt something as glorious as Dean’s skin before.

There’s only so much even the most patient of patient brothers can take. Even if Sam is, strictly speaking, the one that got this thing going in the first place with that throwaway comment about Cas not knowing how to kiss all those years ago.

Years?

Months, maybe. Has to be months.

No, wait, Sam thinks to himself, flicking through a mental calendar. Seriously. It’s only been a few  _ weeks  _ ?

How’s that even possible?

He knows they’re making up for lost time because of their stupidity and, well. Stupidity, but this is getting ridiculous.

Dean is beaming at him as though his mouth is going to split open with his smile, and Sam’s returning it even though he’s trying hard not to. “Like what?” Dean manages eventually when he regains control of his own lips.

Sam sighs, put-upon and plain tired. Because as well as the sweetness that he sees, there’s this whole other… thing… going on, that involves noises he never wants to hear coming out of the mouth of his brother, or that of an angel/former angel/whatever it is that Cas is these days. It’s just difficult, and frankly has become impossible to maintain eye contact with either of them for more than a few seconds without remembering those… sounds…

Sam shakes his head at the memory, and clears his throat. “You. You’re like… like....” And Sam’s slapping his hands down heavily on his thighs, because he’s having trouble getting the words out. “Loved up,” he settles on.

The Dean that Sam had grown up with. The Dean that, a few short weeks ago would have done everything from scowl to throwing a punch at Sam for such a comment, grins back at him like an idiot and can do little more than blush to show his agreement with Sam’s words. Sam doesn’t recognise him at all.

Dean’s not  _ different _ , Sam think to himself. He’s still ready for a job at a moment’s notice and got his back 100%. But there’s just this…  _ glow  _ , to Dean now, that Sam just not...  he’s not… well he’s not okay with, okay? He likes it, he does, really. But it’s just getting a little hard to breath when the air is so thick with sappiness. He feels like he’s sliding in an oil slick of someone else’s joy wherever he steps these days.

Sam carefully rethinks his internal dialogue, grimacing at the images he’s given himself, and clears his throat again.

“Dude. You’re happy. I get it.”

“I am,” Dean agrees, smiling goofily.

No, thinks Sam. The Dean that he had grown up with has been… usurped… by this…  _ version  _ of Dean standing before him that would now take down a Wendigo with one hand whilst lovingly running his fingers through Cas’ hair with the other. Without even breaking a sweat.

It’s got that bad.

“Look,” Sam starts again, not even really sure where he’s going with this. “I’m not saying tone it down… I mean. It’s taken you long enough to get here,” he smiles, rolling his eyes at how ridiculous the whole thing really is.

“But…” Dean prompts him, as though he’s even going to listen to Sam’s suggestion in the first place.

“But…” Sam continues, then shakes his head. “I don’t know. Just…”

“Tone it down?” Dean finished for him sympathetically; since when did Dean do that little head tilt thing, Sam thinks to himself in bewilderment, immediately taking in the stance and seeing an image Cas stood before him instead. Godammit…

“Just a little,” Sam says, hastily, hating the thought of Dean not thinking he’s ridiculously happy for him. For them both.

“I get it,” Dean nods, clasping a hand around Sam’s shoulder, before leaving him standing there a little open mouthed and baffled.

***

“See, Cas? How much better does that look without the shells floating around it in bits?”

Sam comes to an abrupt halt in the kitchen doorway to find Cas at the counter with Dean wrapped around him, and the telltale sound of eggs being beaten with a whisk.

“It does look ‘better’,” Cas agrees, leaning his head back and twisting it to reach Dean’s mouth for a kiss. Dean tightens his grip a little tighter around Cas’ waist and Sam has to fight to keep the groan bubbling up in his throat from escaping.

He keeps watching though, as Dean runs a series of distracted kisses over the back of Cas’ neck while he’s doing something else at the counter with his hands.

Sam hopes he’s grating cheese…

Sam is still watching, and really, omelette making has never needed to be a two-man event. But the way Dean doesn’t let go of Cas throughout the entire process, it may as well be just that.

“How much cheese?” he hears Cas mumble, hand poised over the pan and a handful ready to drop.

Dean nuzzles against his shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “As much cheese as you want, Cas.”

“What if I want all the cheese?”

And god, Sam thinks, a whine escaping from his lips, how the hell does Cas manage to say that so seductively? Not that  _ he  _ finds it seductive, he corrects himself and fights back the bile that rises in him. No, but the way Dean purrs - and hell, when did Dean learn to purr? - at Cas’ words and presses himself even more around him, Dean seems to find anything Cas is saying very seductive indeed.

Yes, Sam tells himself, eyes growing wide as Dean is taking the plate from Cas’ hand, and spinning him around to press him against the counter, hands up and on his jaw and kissing him as though he’s not seen him for a year. Very seductive indeed.

Sam watches in disbelief as Cas’ hands rise slowly up, around Dean, and under his t-shirt, pushing it all the way up. Sam takes in the hickey he can see on Dean’s hip and that whimper just forces its way back out again for having to witness something he really did not want to ever see.

When it’s clear Dean and Cas are far too distracted to hear the bubbling in the pan, Sam sighs again, stalks up to the stove, and switches off the gas, roughly cutting the omelette into three; he’s going to have some of this if he’s had to rescue it, he thinks to himself.

Perhaps Dean mumbles a  _ thank you  _ as Sam passes them again, but Sam can’t really make it out. Instead, he grabs himself a beer from the fridge, adds a ton of the leftover salad he’d had earlier, and slumps himself down on a table as far away from Dean and Cas as he can.

  
  
  



End file.
